Little Devil
by calm storms
Summary: Gomez teaches Wednesday how to dance. One-shot.


_You are the apple of my eye. Forever you'll stay in my heart_

"This is a futile activity, father."

Gomez removed his royal blue jacket, discarding it carelessly on top of the velvet loveseat that had been moved to the wall. He wore a black vest over a slightly unbuttoned white shirt, matching slacks, and polished loafers; usual attire for him.

"Mija, everyone should learn to dance. Such firey powerful movements intertwined with one another."

"Lighting someone on fire will result in a similar feeling," Wednesday stated her voice void of emotion.

She stood in the middle of the opened parlor, her long raven hair tied into pigtails, as she wore a short-sleeved black dress with a milky white-collar that blended into her pale skin. All of the furniture had been pushed aside to provide room. The family's lanky servant, Lurch, sat solemnly at the harpsichord; despite his height, his mute behavior practically made him invisible.

With the exception of Morticia tending to her plants in the conservatory, they were currently the only occupants in the gloomy home. Grandmama had gone to the swamp to check on her frog traps, while Uncle Fester had taken Pugsley and Pubert to the circus. Morticia was skeptical at first because of last year, security believed Pubert was part of the act and refused to let them leave. Though flattering, it was very time-consuming.

"Darling, I promise you, this will be a life-changing experience. You will not regret this," Gomez expressed, as he made his way towards his daughter.

"I already feel tortured."

"Terrific, Wednesday! That's the Addams spirit!" Gomez exclaimed, clapping his hands in excitement. "Lurch! Play Bach's Prelude and Fugue in C major."

Lurch nodded, rubbing the rough scaley tips of his fingers, before beginning the melody.

"Now," Gomez began, placing his right hand on his daughter's waist, his left taking her right, "a waltz is fluid, graceful; whilst easy to master, passion is more complex."

"I do not know the meaning of that word, father," she deadpanned. Gomez couldn't recall the last time he heard a different expression lacing his daughter's voice.

"Nonsense mi tesoro. You are an Addams, passion is in your blood," Gomez reminded her, before continuing on the lesson. "Now, place your hand on my shoulder and mimic my steps; it's all about the movements." Wednesday complied, waiting for further instructions. "I step forward, you step back. I step forward, turning my foot; you step back, turning yours. Now, slide your left foot over towards your right so they are together. Eye contact, corazón."

Wednesday looked back up into her father's eyes as they repeated the steps. She didn't even realize she was staring down at her feet in the first place. The middle child of the Addams' clan considered herself an intelligent being, a gifted talent of learning quickly. However, Wednesday could feel the ticks of annoyance scratching at her nerves, desiring to be shown to the world when things took time. She was able to keep a barrier blocking any emotion from escaping and there were times she genuinely just did not care. When she was six she was removed from her ballet class, after only three lessons, from twisting a girl's leg, tearing the cartilage and causing a popliteal cyst. She showed no remorse and only responded that at least she didn't have to undergo surgery or remove her leg.

Wednesday did not see herself as sadistic or a _freak_ as others in her school referred to her as. In her eyes, she was the most normal out of all of them. She didn't hide behind a facade of perfection and impeccability. It wasn't in her blood to do so. She simply strolled through the world waiting for her death to arrive decades later.

"Excellent, mija! You are a natural prodigy," Gomez praised. "You learn as quick as you did with the crossbow."

"I would have mastered the art faster if Pugsley would have quit fidgeting," Wednesday explained, remembering how much her brother squirmed tied to the tree with an apple on top of his head. Such a baby.

"My child, our trials empower our accomplishments!" Gomez exclaimed. They finished the final step he had taught his daughter, before continuing on. "Now, reverse the first step. I'll step back with my right, you step forward with your left. Then, I step back with my left, you with your right, and then slide your feet back together."

"This is tedious, father," Wednesday blatantly admitted.

"Eye contact, corazón," Gomez ordered, as they practiced. "This may seem valueless now, but it will show great use throughout your marriage."

"Marriage is a social construct that only exists to join finances and is just a useless title to bind you to someone," Wednesday said.

Gomez kept his poise, turning them both slightly to the left, as they began to create a rhythm with their movements. "Once you're in love, you'll think differently, mija. I never thought I would belong to one woman until I met your mother. I was a lover, not a man of commitment, but when I first saw her," he paused, turning his daughter once more, "I knew we were meant to be."

Wednesday stayed quiet, focusing on her footing, as her father continued. "To me, she was, and still is, the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I was infatuated with every step she took, every breath she breathed, every word she spoke. Even to this day, she is my dying grace. Our souls to be intertwined in death as our bodies rot into bones." Gomez twirled his daughter, before stopping their movements. "That is true love, mija. Giving yourself to an everlasting bliss of worship and admiration to a single being. You will know when it comes to you. But, for now," he caressed the young girl's cheek, "you are my diablito."

Wednesday's black orbs stared into her father's. Despite her dark nature, there was a beauty of innocence. "Don't become sentimental, father; it'll make me vomit."

To mimic the gracious dance just taught to her, Wednesday curtsied, before exiting the parlor, giving Lurch the notice to finish the final note.

The young girl stood out in the hall for a brief moment. There was a strange sensation spreading through her. It was warm and kind . . . disgusting. Yet, she didn't mind. She felt her lips twitch, similar to the spasm her older brother gave her when they played Martha Place and Edwin Davis. But it was different. It wasn't any electroshocks radiating her body causing her nerves to jolt, it was the tender feeling circulating through her. That's when she understood. Wednesday Addams was smiling.

It wasn't cynical or vengeful, it was a lovable smile from what she was feeling. From being loved and appreciated by her father. There were multiple times her father had complimented and loved her, after all, she was his diablito. His _little devil_. However, they connected this time. They had a wholesome experience that created happiness into young Wednesday's spirit. Gross.

Regaining her senses, Wednesday removed the smile from her face and ran up the stairs to her room. She couldn't face her family like this.


End file.
